The Worlds Wit and Humor: An Encyclopedia in 15 Volumes. 1906.Vols. IV: American

My First Visit to Portland

By Seba Smith (17921868)

IN the fall of the year 1829 I took it into my head Id go to Portland. I had heard a good deal about Portland, what a fine place it was, and how the folks got rich there proper fast; and that fall there was a couple of new papers come up to our place from there, called the Portland Courier and Family Reader, and they told a good many queer kind of things about Portland, and one thing and another; and all at once it popped into my head, and I up and told father, and says:

Father stared a little at first and said he was afraid I would get lost; but when he see I was bent upon it, he give it up, and he stepped to his chist, and opened the till, and took out a dollar and gave it to me; and says he:

This made me feel rather bad for a minit or two, and I almost had a mind to give it up; and then again fathers dream came into my mind, and I mustered up courage and declared Id go. So I tackled up the old horse, and packed in a load of ax-handles and a few notions; and mother fried me some doughnuts and put em into a box, along with some cheese and sausages, and ropped me up another shirt, for I told her I didnt know how long I should be gone. After I got rigged out, I went round and bid all the neighbors good-by and jumped in and drove off for Portland.

Aunt Sally had been married two or three years before and moved to Portland; and I inquired round till I found out where she lived, and went there and put the old horse up, and ate some supper and went to bed.

And the next morning I got up and straightened right off to see the editor of the Portland Courier, for I knew by what I had seen in his paper that he was just the man to tell me which way to steer. And when I come to see him, I knew I was right; for soon as I told him my name and what I wanted, he took me by the hand as kind as if he had been a brother, and says he:

Mister, says he, Ill do anything I can to assist you. You have come to a good town. Portland is a healthy, thriving place, and any man with a proper degree of enterprise may do well here. But, says he, strangerand he looked mighty kind of knowingsays he, if you want to make out to your mind, you must do as the steamboats do.

Why, says he, they go ahead. And you must drive about among the folks here just as tho you were at home on the farm among the cattle. Dont be afraid of any of them, but figure away, and I dare say youll get into good business in a very little while. But, says he, theres one thing you must be careful of, and that is, not to get into the hands of those are folks that trades up round Hucklers Row, for theres some sharpers up there, if they get hold of you, would twist your eye-teeth out in five minits.

Well, arter he had giv me all the good advice he could, I went back to Aunt Sallys agin and got some breakfast; and then I walked all over the town, to see what chance I could find to sell my ax-handles and things and to git into business.

Well, then, says I to myself, I have a pesky good mind to go in and have a try with one of these chaps and see if they can twist my eye-teeth out. If they can get the best end of a bargain out of me they can do what there aint a man in our place can do; and I should just like to know what sort of stuff these ere Portland chaps are made of. So in I goes into the best-looking store among em. And I see some biscuit lying on the shelf, and says I:

What! says I, do you mean to impose upon me? Do you think I am going to pay you for the biscuits, and let you keep them, too? Aint they there now on your shelf? What more do you want? I guess, sir, you dont whittle me in that way.